


Home Invasion

by luamoonpride



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/F, I was like, Missy Being Missy (Doctor Who), Not a One shot anymore, Partial Mind Control, Warnings May Change, and brought me some spice, first ao3 work i guess, i live my comedian dreams through chapter titles, what if missy broke into my apartment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luamoonpride/pseuds/luamoonpride
Summary: The TARDIS malfunctions and crashes on Earth. Wounded and impatient, Missy looks for shelter.
Relationships: Missy (Doctor Who)/Reader, Missy (Doctor Who)/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	1. Subtle Lands of a Glitching TARDIS

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it was raining a lot and my mind couldn't bare studying any longer so I was like "let's write some improv" and this was born. I'm not a native english speaker so I'm sorry for any potential mistakes.

It was violently thundering the night she landed on that alleyway. Or better, the night her ship collapsed on Earth, consequence of a malfunction, caused by an attack very much anticipated but not expected to be lost. Therefore, the weather matched her mood: unstable, unstoppable.

Rain soaked her clothing, every layer of Victorian attire feeling heavier than its usual. It made it harder for her to walk away from the TARDIS. That and the shots lingering on her left shoulder and thigh.

Looking around, trying to locate herself, she noticed emergency exit stairs leading up to a lit window on the first floor of the building she was facing. She didn’t have the energy to stay conscious for much longer, but she could measure she still had enough to bring herself up those stairs and kill whoever was living there. A quick fix for the time being, a place to rest and regenerate.

Taking one last look at the ship, fuming, slowly turning itself into a _No Parking_ post, glitching here and there, she pulled out her sonic umbrella and directed it towards the lock enabling the stairs of coming all the way to the ground. The sound of metal unclasping and a loud thud soon followed, reverberating into the rhythmic storm surrounding her.

She began to climb, dragging her wounded leg behind with every step she took. Weakened arm grabbing the sonic, good one gripping the handle higher as she jumped each step up. It was a systematic operation, that took longer than she expected, all things considered.

But her leg gave in at the last moment, her body falling forward, face hitting metal. She screamed in pain. A quick analysis was made: her jaw and chest had just hit the ground, so she’d probably gain a cut and some nasty bruises for a few days. Plus, her nose was bleeding, she could taste it on her mouth. Nothing too alarming. Yet again, all things considered.

Once the discomfort had settled in, she got back to work. With all her strength in her spare arm she lifted her body, staring right inside the apartment she had chosen. She crawled through the metal ground, blood dripping from her face, landing on the floor and being swept by her skirt.

Arms lifted window, to which answered her prayers by being unlocked. It was too easy, not that she minded. “Amateurs. Like a call to be home invaded.” She thought as she yanked herself on the windowsill and then left her body fall limp onto the carpeted floor inside. Rain poured down on her still, but at least she had shelter, a roof over her head without engines sparking everywhere she looked.

A living room. A very small living room with a kitchenette attached to it, she could see through the dim lit area, the source of light now known as a lava lamp in one of the bookshelves. She had to have ended on the tiniest apartment in history. At least she could locate her kill if they were ever to show up, from a turn of the head. There were, after all, only two doors shown besides the front one. Bathroom and bedroom, she assumed. Would the stranger awake before her if she took a moment’s rest? Probably not, if they hadn’t woken up with all her fuss until now. And even if they did, she had her gadget at hand, safe on her jacket’s pocket. One wrong move and she would vaporize them.

With one last effort, she closed the window and sat herself on the nearby couch. In the morning she’d wake up, take any remains of bullets out of her body and have a nice bath. But for now? For now, she would imitate her unknown roommate and fall into a deep sleep.


	2. First Up for a Hypnotism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy tries to mind control you. It backfires.

Something is off the minute you open your eyes. It’s not like something is out of place. No. Your alarm rang like every other morning, the orange rays of early morning sunshine filling your room in a bright welcome to a new day.

You sit up, looking at your desk, seeing the mess of scattered papers and annotations covering the integrity of its surface, your computer still on. You have an upcoming group project to deliver right around the corner and you’ve been spending your leisure hours at home finishing it up when not in classes. Programming could be fun, but it could also be a pain, and when most of your so-called group partners didn’t collaborate on their respective assignments, you found yourself doing it all solo. Last night right after dinner you had gained a huge headache from being with your nose up on that screen non-stop. You decided to allow a break from what would be another sleepless night, giving your body and mind a rest. Needless to say, you had slept like a baby, despite the ongoing storm, that seemed to have ceased completely by now.

The sound of the water running. That’s what alarms you. Wouldn’t be too much of a bother if you didn’t live alone or had someone spent the night. But none of those things had happened.

You get up, picking a discarded university sweater from your wash bin, the chill of the room from mid-November not going unnoticed in the ages old building you live at. In a different situation you’d look for something clean, but at the moment all you want is to understand what has happened while you slept.

Silently you open the door and step out into your living room, seeing the window you were sure was completely down yesterday, partially up. But that is not what makes you panic.

The carpeted floor, the so esteemed carpeted floor you had paid a bit more price to have on this apartment looks like it has been washed up with blood. Blood that leaves a trace from the wall near the window to your sofa. Droplets that go all the way to the closed bathroom door.

You have an intruder. That much is clear.

A runaway? A burglar? A felon? Clearly someone who had gotten themselves in a pretty bad shape and decided to take shelter at your rented home during college.

Are you in danger? You gulp at the thought and wonder if you should call the police.

Yes, that’s what you will do…

But first, you’ll arm yourself.

You steadily move to grab a knife from your kitchen counter. Deep down you admit that when push comes to shove, you probably won’t have the ability to protect yourself, but at least you could try and hope to rely on your survival instincts if they are needed.

The water tap closes as you pick it up, however, signaling whoever is inside could come out at any minute now. In a haste of deciding whether to make a run for a call or hide, you end up doing none, standing at the center of your kitchen, looking between the knife on your hand to the phone all the way up on your coffee table, near the couches. You’re a deer lost in the headlights and get no time to act.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A calming female voice is heard from behind you. Your skin crawls up, the unexpected Scottish accent seeming to engrave itself in your mind. You freeze, more than you had before, not daring to turn around.

An amused chuckle follows at your expense, light steps being taken towards you. You close your eyes and don’t dare to breathe, cursing yourself for being so indecisive, until her voice makes itself loud and clear by your side.

“Wouldn’t end up nicely on your part. And I must say…”

Silence.

Silence as if she has vanished.

But then a hand runs through your hair, lifting it from your shoulder before letting you be. You look up for the first time in forever, confused at the mid-sentence and intrusive touching. The woman in front of you is not at all what you had pictured.

Her frame is petite, she’s shorter than you, what for a moment you considered an advantage. Yet you can tell by the muscles of her arms, highlighted by the folding of her sleeves, that she probably has much strength, something you certainly do not. You flush once you notice you are staring right down at her body, covered only by one of your towel robes. You decide then to move your gaze up. Her hair is auburn and curly, falling on her back but seemingly rather long. Her skin is porcelain white, highlighting the bruises and scratches that pattern it, specially across her face. Even though her clean appearance, the roughness of whatever she’s gotten herself out of is evident. She is clearly older than you, double your age maybe? You can’t really place it but admit that despite all that she has a timeless beauty about her. And the minute you meet her eyes it’s as if you are drowned by the ocean. You swear they’re the lightest shade of blue you’ve ever witnessed, and as they observe you, a devious look starts taking growth in them.

She has caught you staring, either that, or she has read your mind.

“… I do find you quite pretty. What a waste of human existence.” She finishes her sentence, a big grin on her thin lips. She’s cut herself short on purpose, expecting a final reaction out of you and now you realize she has succeeded. An “Hello there.” is added as her eyes lock themselves on yours, and suddenly you feel lightheaded, as under a spell, not interested in looking anywhere but her.

You can only flush as you question “Human?”, you voice coming out in a whisper, the world around you two narrowing, the blue pulling you in.

Her hands reach for yours, disarming you of the knife and throwing it carelessly to the floor behind her. You can’t seem to put up a fight against it as you merely watch.

_What is happening?_

“Human dear. Aren’t you one?” Her voice sounds like honey. An accord making itself distinctly heard in a melody.

You babble but suddenly your muscles feel constraint, enabling you of any sort of movement. Your temples start to pulse, as if your brain is being tickled, driving you to the edge. Noticing this, the intruder takes no time steading you, her hands on each side of your shoulders, eyes still locked, blinking slowly. Expression not of worry but eager. Her body itching closer, her face so close to yours, your lips could touch.

The thought of kissing her flashes inconveniently through your mind, as if you suddenly can’t control your subcontinent attraction. You wish you could shake it off as she idly smirks.

“Shush. Easy there. It’s almost done” What is done? You can’t make sense of her words. She is holding you in her gaze and it hurts. A big headache overtaking you. “Just let mummy in.” Your foreheads are touching now.

She’s not merely looking at you, she’s looking _through_ you. It’s like she doesn’t even blink.

You stare still lost, your thoughts echoing as if slipping away. But you replay her words over and over since they seem to be the only thing at the forefront of your mind.

Her words. Her being. Her desires.

_“Just let mummy in.”_

It plays and replays, the maternal demeanor bringing you more of a sense of discomfort than ease, the emotional response you theoretically should be feeling. And somehow, that deep sense of awareness brings everything flooding back.

She is intruding. Not only in your house apparently, but also trying to do the same with your psyche, in a foreign tactic you can’t seem to rationally give an excuse for yet.

Somehow that chain of thoughts helps you understand something else: You think you’re going to die. You’re sure your head will explode if you don’t stop looking into her eyes. And that is it exactly: _Her eyes_. Something in them is causing this.

You shut your eyes abruptly. For a second, it’s like the pain doubles faster than the crescendo it was building itself to with her on the lead. You scream, realizing that you can, in fact, vocalize your feelings again.

“No! Get out of my head!” You lightly shove her on the chest, the element of surprise being enough to pull her off you as she gasps.

Your body feels heavy and you stumble without her balance, the sensation being the same as if you’ve been spinning in place for a while. You don’t care about the prospect of falling, you’re just sure you can’t open your eyes, otherwise all will be for nothing. Your consciousness stolen from you yet again.

How long has her persuasion lasted? You can’t tell. Could have been minutes. Could have been seconds.

“Listen, you’re just making it worse. I can ease that itch with a snap of my fingers if you…” Her hands are on you again, pulling at your sleeve. There’s an edge on her voice that wasn’t there before, a kind of frustration, and that spurs you to keep going, that by refusing her, you must be doing something right.

Her grip keeps evading you as you flinch and step backwards against the counter, cornered. Her hands are everywhere. Pulling your sweater, trying to grip your arm. Immediately, you turn around, back to her, as a way of protection.

“Look at me for a moment. Everything will be fine, pinky swear.” She says, a hand on your back running up and down, again going for the friendly approach.

You resist.

Her voice is still suggestive in your thoughts, but it’s weakening. You take a deep breath, remembering the basic of things that had slipped from your mind: Your name, where you are, what day is it. And what she certainly is not: an acquaintance, really concerned with your wellbeing, no matter what she has tried to convince you.

“I said no.” You stand your ground one final time. You shout it more to yourself than to answer her maneuvers, but hope she gets the message, nonetheless. From behind, you hear her start to say something else before she, much alike yourself minutes prior, starts screaming.

Except these screams are not directed at you, but desperate screams of pain.

You jump caught off guard, scared by the sudden behavior. The fog in your mind clears up in an instant, just as yesterday’s storm did this morning.

In an unexplainable way, you know it’s safe now.

Your kitchen is once again visible to you. In your peripheral vision you find her kneeled on the floor, hands gripping her head strongly.

“You aren’t supposed to do that!” She spits before another wave of pain seems to hit her, making her whimper and lay down.

You take her in, wondering if her suffering is just a ploy. A way of distracting you or growing pity.

You’ve always been a compassionate person and admit that even thought she had just tried to hypnotize you, you feel the need to help her. You take a second to consider if that willingness comes truly from your selflessness or from whatever residue of what just happened polluting your decisions.

Her robe has opened to reveal an era, cotton white chemise underneath. You thank whoever for her apparent nudity before had been a false alarm, things would have gotten awkward as you stare down at her. Moving her hands to her temples she sniffles, completely out of character from what you’ve witnessed just before. Tears roll down her face as she suddenly drops her arms down, instinctively gripping one of her shoulders.

You watch as a red stain starts to spread from beneath her fingers, soaking her clothing.

 _Of course, she’s hurt, there is blood all over the house._ You momentarily had forgotten that fact though, as if it discarded from your memory until it resurfaced again.

It’s like bits and pieces are still coming back.

You shake your head, focusing on the trouble ahead. A very alive, seemingly powerful problem.

Not only her head is throbbing she has, at least, one wound that you know off. _Wonderful._ At least you can visibly confirm her pain is not her acting up.

You could just call the cops, or the ambulance to take care of her, but what would happen if she managed to get strong enough again to get into one of their minds? Or what if she died before assistance arrived?

You didn’t want to feel responsible for any of those outcomes, neither potential world domination, nor a dead body in your apartment, yet you found yourself with the responsibility of preventing them.

You two had already interacted, at least one of the tricks up her sleeve has been revealed and you know now exactly how to dodge it. Plus, it seems like her strength is coming and going in waves, so you could deal with the weakest moments and learn along the way how to manage the peaks.

You roll your eyes at your situation, wondering how the hell did your morning turn to this as you make up your mind.

Yes, you are helping her at your own accord.

Who would have thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really am taking this further than a one shot, aren’t I?
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and commented their desire for a continuation of this silly idea of mine. I haven't written fanfiction for 5+ years and this chapter got me back that writing kick I forgot one could get addicted to.
> 
> Was supposed to post this chapter earlier but couldn’t find time to revise it. My country got back into an emergency state so I had my university closed and some exam dates moved. I thought I'd be free by now but I’m not. Still, I’m writing Part III as I share this one.
> 
> Also yes, I'm a CS student. I've come to find a lot of Missy sapphic simps are. Is it a personality trait? Someone should do a study on it.


	3. Deals with Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An agreement is reached, dynamics shift, and names are revealed.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a slow burner. Hang in there folks.

_Human_

How did she take hold of your mind? How had you broken free from it? Why is her head throbbing as if your pain had suddenly become her pain?

Who and _what_ is she?

_Human_

Like most children, you’ve had a superhero phase, that followed a previous fairy obsession, but you’ve always known early on that those were just tales, products of one’s imagination.

_Human_

Since then, even the supernatural seemed ridiculous to you. You were never one to believe in anything other than that the cycle of life was inescapable, the universe kept expanding, and that maybe there were others out there, although you’d probably die, the sun would stop shining and Earth would freeze before your civilization could ever prove it.

_Human_

What had created the universe? You’re not sure. What came first, the chicken or the egg? If there was a Big Bang, doesn’t that mean there was already something there before, so the explosion could occur?

_Human_

You feel like yesterday’s headache is returning.

As you sit tiredly on a stall, you realize there are so many things you can’t and probably won’t ever comprehend until your time is due.

However, you get the feeling that to some of those questions you might get an answer to today, the source of knowledge still whimpering and holding onto her head for dear life on your kitchen floor.

You glance at the clock on the wall, confirming that you should be out the door by now to get to classes. Clearly you were skipping today, caught in a very unusual hostage situation.

You wonder what the professor will think, considering you’ve never missed one of her classes before.

You get up, heading towards the bathroom, a health kit in mind to assist her bleeding shoulder. You leave her behind unworrying, sure she won’t move an inch while you’re gone, as she hasn’t been able to do much but tremble for the past 10 minutes.

When you open the door, the scene that greets you is gruesome: shower curtains and walls printed with bloodied fingerprints. You almost fall stepping in, tripping on the discarded layers of seemingly endless clothing welcoming you at the entrance, wrapping themselves at your feet. You try to recognize what was she wearing as she came in and shake your head in disbelief at a corset and another chemise, a voluptuous violet skirt and matching jacket and a shirt. All of it either stained by her wounds or ripped.

 _What’s the deal with the Victorian wear?_ You wonder as you carefully step inside.

A classic brooch is neatly placed at the edge of the sink, so is a weird device that you naively associate to a remote control. You grab the latter for a second, turning it around, to inspect it closer. It’s to your surprise or shock that when clicking on a button at its side, a flash of light comes out of its back. The laser hits the wall and boomerangs, you dodge it just in time. As you look back to watch if something happened, the laser has simply disappeared into thin air.

You blink repeatedly, not believe your eyes.

“Are you playing with my things? Don’t touch anything!” Her distressed voice shouts from the other room. “You’ll kill us both!” You her struggling as she adds. She mut be trying to get up, you reckon.

Still stupefied, you quickly hide the device in your sweater’s pocket, an idea, or plan B, forming in your mind as you finish what you came in here for. If she says it could kill you both it means it could kill _her_ , something you don’t plan on doing but she doesn’t need to know. As you’ve made her suffer already, she might think twice in messing with you again while taking hold of this.

At last, something to your advantage.

You grab the health kit at the end of a cabinet, but stop abruptly, seeing plyers and two shining golden orbs inside the sink, bloodied.

_Was that-? Did she really- With no anesthesia?_

With thoughts running wild, you feel the urge to vomit, but can handle yourself, since you’re working on an empty stomach.

You can only assume those orbs are much alike bullets, and the reason of her wounds. Where is the light they emanate coming from? Are they technological? Something must be powering them.

You’ve never been one to go through people’s things, but as you have a stranger inside your house for who knows how long, you feel the urge to observe everything, in hope it can tell you something more about her in case no such information is provided when asking for it yourself.

It’s good to know who you’re dealing with.

“Mummy’s going to be really cross if you touch anything!” She yells once more from the kitchen. A thud and a shriek soon follow, pulling you out from your scavenger hunt.

 _She seriously needs to stop calling herself mummy._ You think, your skin rising with adrenaline. You chose to blame it on the situation, not on the desire it draws from within you.

Hurrying back into the kitchen you find her fallen on the ground, a couple of feet ahead of where she was previously, trying to rise by pulling her weight into the chair closest to her. Instead of rising though, she ends up falling again, bringing the chair down with her. She’s doing it too quickly, not understanding the strength she needs to keep balance does not measure up to the one she currently holds from being weakened.

Back to stack zero once more.

“You should sit back-“ You advise instinctively, thinking how forcing her body weight on her injury could potentially worsen it.

That’s when you notice that additionally to her shoulder, somewhere on her hip there’s a similar red stain taking form, silently explaining the reason for her newfound struggle getting up.

You reach towards her to offer support, but she raises a hand in the air with her good arm, stopping you halfway.

“No help. Never needed, never will.” She cuts off with a yellow smile.

You choose not to argue back.

It’s the first time she acknowledges your presence since you’ve first returned to the room and although it’s a command, it tells you she might be more willing to have a proper conversation now.

You can’t risk pissing her off and have her attacking you again, so you swallow a reply of insistence, deciding to just stand around and witness her effort for the time being, hoping she’ll eventually come to terms with herself that it’s best to give up. 

After a few more tries, it starts to become mildly amusing her constant refusal on staying put, rage peaking each time she falls down. It’s incredibly endearing, and you can tell her pride is something to walk on eggshells around. You do a mental note on that fact.

She stops abruptly her ministrations, catching an inch of a smile slowly forming itself at the corners of your lips. If looks could kill, you’d be dead this instant. You straighten your back an regain your composure quickly enough. Huffing, she dismisses you as if you aren’t sharing the same space once more, getting back at it.

Back onto the hardwood floor.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Done with being a spectator, you take the chair out of her reach and extend a hand to her instead. The woman narrows her eyes in suspicion, but after a moment of what seems to be of weighting her options, she makes a move to accept it, radiating defeat.

You retract your hand immediately.

“On two conditions.” You’re being bold and you know it, but if there is one moment to take control back of the situation and your home, this is it.

“I was never one to please, poppet.” She admits, smiling through gritted teeth. Her silence afterwards gives you the cue to continue.

“Then you’re not getting proper stitching.” You say, shaking the medical kit you’ve been holding firmly in front of her eyes, then taking the device from your pocket and revealing it to her. “Nor this back…”

You watch as plain alarm is shown on her features, her body tensing as she eyes you carefully. She impulses her body forward to reach the device but you step back right on time, preventing it.

“Conditions.” You remember her, biting your tongue, your heart racing at her sudden energy burst.

 _That was close_. You need to start being more attentive, comparing her to a shark, ready to bite at the slightest hint of blood.

“Listen to me, you don’t know what that can do. It would be foolish of you to even _breathe_ near it.” She explains, and you can tell she’s trying to be polite and control her tone, although by the end of the sentences it loses its edge considerably.

Deep down, you’re still nervous she’ll refuse the agreement you’ve conjured, since she seems one to put on a good fight for anything. Still, she’s physically exhausted, you can tell, and her patience is running also low, otherwise you’re sure she’d be talking back way more.

“And I’ve got a proposal. Either take it or leave it.” You say firmly, leaving the health kit on top of the counter and pretending to fully play around with the device. “I really don’t know what this is but by the looks of it it’s valuable. Should I sell it?” You turn it around in your hands until its ray is directed towards her.

You then make a move to click on the button from earlier.

“Fin-FINE!” She pleads just in time as your finger lingers on top to press it. You do your best to hide your excitement as your intentions have been successful.

“Fine what?” You ask, a hand on your hip, the other displaying the device high enough so she doesn’t think on lunging for it again but still in her line of vision.

“How the tables have turned…” She murmurs, biting her lip and it’s as if she is finally considering you are someone not to take for granted, unlike what she had previously assumed.

She doesn’t look into your eyes, but rather the wall behind you as she defeatedly says. “I’ll listen.” Her voice breaking with a sigh.

That must have been hard for her to say out loud, you realize, then proceed with exposing your requirements.

“Health assistance & device back as long as you promise: one, not to kill me and two, to answer all my questions as long as you stay under my roof.”

“That’s it? Knowledge?” She snorts, thrusting her head back and laughing mockingly. “Your poor human brain can’t think of anything superior than getting a life insurance and knowledge from me?”

From what you’re gathering, she must think very highly of herself.

“If it makes me content, wouldn’t want anything else.” You spit back, crossing your arms, as if to assert you’re not letting her diminish you. Not for the time being.

“How long? Under your roof?”

“Until you’re physically recovered.”

“What if I also need to repair my… _transport_ … before I can flea?”

“As long as you’re good and it is fixed then.”

A period of silence follows.

Your heart skips a beat as you wait, fighting the urge to balance yourself on the tip of your toes.

Especially when she scans you from bottom to top with that icy glaze you’re still avoiding.

“Deal.”

As she speaks, you can’t avoid letting a breath you were holding go, unwillingly calling yourself out from expectation.

“Deal- But don’t think I don’t know what you just did. When mummy’s feeling better you’ll learn when to shut that smartass of a tongue.” She quickly adds, any kind of internal celebration or relief taken from you within an instant.

At least you’ve reached a sort of agreement.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” You can’t help to reply a bit teasingly, as if flirting could shake off the shiver you reluctantly feel running down your spine at her threat.

Not that you don’t have an excuse. She’s still an attractive woman speaking to you with too many terms of endearment, sat on your floor in what one would classify as the Victorian version of lingerie. And she is very much aware of it, probably, as she raises an eyebrow knowingly.

Your smile falters, thinking maybe you’ve given too much of yourself away.

Well, when in Rome.

“Shoulder stitches for first question: what’s your name?” You break the new kind of tension formed between the two of you, hoping to finally get somewhere.

You can detect amusement plastered on her face, as if she was waiting for that question since the beginning.

“The Master, usually. Although in this body Mistress is more applicable to your gender politics. Missy, for sort. My boyfriend as of late really likes the latter.” She has the decency of adding a wink at the end of her statement.

You feel your cheeks burning at how convenient the nickname given is. How could you be so stupid? Of course, she wouldn’t reveal her real name the first time you asked.

“Not the answer you were searching for?” ‘Missy’ asks, her eyebrows furrowing in pretend confusion.

“Not really. But it will have to do for now, won’t it?” You retort, watching as she shrugs her shoulders.

She will, without a doubt, be playing with the fact that you might or may not fancy her every chance she gets. Your pulse quickens with the possibility.

She clears her throat, claiming back your attention.

“Now stitches.” She pleas with a pout, before raising her uninjured arm in your direction, waiting to be irked up as a toddler.

 _Stop yearning and be a woman of word._ You remind yourself, snapping back into reality.

“Just a second.” You disappear into your bedroom and quickly choose to hide the device underneath your mattress. It will do for now, while you keep her distracted, before you find somewhere else harder to locate to store it.

When you return, she repeats the request, adding an excessive lot of blinking your way. You roll your eyes, hiding your flushness with annoyance, although you believe it’s not very effective.

“Alright. Good arm around my shoulder. On three we’re getting up. Got it?” You ask, crouching down and reaching for her waist, holding her firmly on your side.

“Never clearer. Never closer.” She says, kneeling first, one foot ready for the impulse.

You start your countdown. At three you pull her as she irks herself with her remaining strength. Once up, you stand still, steading her.

“Such a lady. Waiting for her Miss to be ready.” She comments, face turning towards you, voice husky.

If you were sure her legs wouldn’t given in, you’d let her go right here and now, her words and closeness being almost _too much_.

As it is, you simply put on a mask of indifference, replying with “Always.” and proceeding on helping her give small steps forwards on a path towards the bathroom, not forgetting to take the abandoned emergency kit on the way.

Once you reach the entry, you push the clothing aside with your feet, granting better access, as her free hand is placed on top of yours at her waist. It’s an unconscious move, for better support, making sure your hold doesn’t slip as you wiggle a bit with the task.

Your skin burns at her touch, nonetheless.

After what it feels like an eternity, you are finally able to lead her to the toilet seat near the sink. Missy falls with a loud thud, her body almost limp at this point.

“You’re a losing a lot of blood.” You comment, the stains in her clothing now completely spread over her front, soaking the fabric.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been through worse things than a bit of a spill.” She assures you, but her increasingly lag in response tells you otherwise.

“You’ll have to stay awake, so I know you’re ok.” You demand. She huffs at the scolding, but her eyes roll for a brief second as she leans back. You take hold of her, sure she’s about to pass out.

You reach for her face, turning it towards you, reservations be damned.

“Missy, look at me.” You watch as her gaze is heavily placed upon you. Her eyes finding yours for the first time since you met. You’ve been looking at the bridge of her nose since then and until now. The brightness you found before is gone. “Stay awake. I’ll keep asking you questions. Try your best to keep answering them.”

She lazily nods. You understand that’s the best you’re going to get for the time being.

“First, I’m going to pull out your robe, is that ok?” You ask out of courtesy.

“Yes” She confirms.

You make a move to slip the robe out of her shoulders, allowing it then to fall loosely down her arms. Pushing her forward, you pull the sleeves, one at a time. Once that’s done, you discard it onto the clothing pile on the floor she herself has created.

Missy will have to undress so you can tend to her wounds, it’s the only way and the faster the better, you conclude. You inspect her chemise, noticing how it is buttoned at the back. How did she tied it up before, you can’t tell, but it will have to go.

“Alright….” You take a deep breath, before suggesting that same idea. “I’m taking off your chemise. I’ll unbutton the back so only your chest is revealed, and I can assist your shoulder. Then you’ll grab the robe and cover yourself, taking the rest off so I can check the leg later. Makes sense?”

“Consent is so important when I’ve broken into your home.” Missy sarcastically comments. For a moment you question if she’s actually feeling regret. After the persistence she has shown though, you know better.

“Well, you’ve said it before, I’m a lady. Consent is always important.” You reply, earning a genuine smile out of her, which catches you off guard.

“Do it, m’am.” Missy grants.

You take no time getting to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my two-day break, before my second semester quicks off, I present you: Chapter 3.  
> Please let me know what you think so far. I appreciate every comment and kudo!  
> And sorry for any grammatical non-sense, as always.


End file.
